Spring Forward, Leap Back
by Beertree
Summary: Another early fanfic. Dr. Sam Beckett steps into the Quantum Leap Accelerator and finds himself trapped in the body of a giant, transforming robot. Yes, this is a Quantum LeapTransformers crossover.


**PROLOGUE**

The Matrix waited patiently, within the dying Optimus Prime, to be passed on to the next host. When his present host ceased functioning before removing it himself, the Matrix assumed another Autobot would open the nonfunctioning Prime's chest and remove it to either keep it for himself or pass it on to a more deserving mech. Time passed, though the Matrix rarely counted such brief intervals. It then sent out a summons to draw the nearest Autobot to it. More time passed.

Its patience ebbed. It needed a host to function properly but no host came. After a time, it realized that no one was going to free it from its cold, dark, silent prison.

**MARCH 26, 2002**

Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap Accelerator and vanished. He awoke to find himself trapped in the past...

"Bye, Sam," Al smirked and waved his unlit cigar.

Sam grinned and waggled his fingers in farewell as the blue lightning engulfed him. The blue faded and Sam Beckett drifted in the gray void that was always the next stop.

"I'm tired," he sighed to himself. "Please, he thought. "I want to go home."

Rest, a voice echoed quietly in his head and Sam forgot.

The blue lightning suddenly brightened and faded. Sam glanced around getting his bearings as quickly as possible. It had become second nature to him now after so many years traveling through time; leaping into and out of lives that weren't his own.

After so long he tried not to let things rattle him, but what he saw this time surprised him. He must've been about 100 feet in the air, the sky above and around him a vivid dark blue marred only by a few pinkish clouds on the horizon tinted by the newly risen sun. Below him the tops of the trees glowed orange in the slanting sunlight. It was beautiful.

Cool, crisp air flowed around him and the sound of helicopter rotors filled his ears. I'm in a helicopter, he thought. I hope I'm not the pilot. A real worry since it was always possible to leap into a dangerous situation. But he couldn't see any helicopter cockpit. He pushed back the tiny prickle of panic that was trying to crawl into his head. This was getting too strange.

A frantic beeping assaulted his hearing and without thinking about it he knew something had established a radar lock on him. "Springer?" A female voice echoed in his head. "What are you doing?"

I don't know, he thought frantically. I'm not Springer! But he realized for all intents and purposes he was Springer. Whoever Springer was. Whatever Springer was. Because he didn't see anybody else named Springer sitting next to him.

A roaring sound drowned out the beating of the rotors and the voice in his head. Two F-15 fighters screamed past releasing a barrage of laser blasts. Lasers? he thought frantically. Who's flying this crate? Why doesn't he get out of the way? The blasts raked his sides and he felt his rear rotor take a direct hit. The peaceful view of the rising sun tilted crazily and spun away as he spiraled out of control.

He cried out in pain and realization. "I'm the helicopter!" The ground rushed up. "Oh, boy," was his last thought before he crashed.

Watching Springer cross the sky from west to east, Arcee kept a sensor on her radar looking out for airborne Decepticons. Her Heads Up Display showed two approaching from the north. "Got 'em, Springer?" she radioed the green helicopter.

"Yep," he started to reply and then fell silent. The large helicopter hovered uncertainly not even trying to evade the approaching Seekers.

"Springer?" she called. "What are you doing?" She cried out again as the two jets fired on him then watched, horrified as he spun into the ground. To her left and right Bumblebee and Ironhide gasped in surprise and further along the ridge Ultra Magnus rose from his spot and fired off his missiles in rapid succession. Both found their targets. The Seekers fled, smoke billowing from their tails.

"Got 'em, Springer?" Arcee asked. Springer quickly checked his own HUD. "Yep," he began then his radio went dead and a blinding blue light disrupted all his sensors. Cut off, blind and deaf he attempted to transform but nothing happened. He cursed silently. Now what? Am I dead?

You are not dead. The words were not spoken but just there.

His eyes snapped open, and he was immediately blinded by the glare of the light over his head. He covered his eyes with his hand to block out the light and gasped in surprise. His hand was small and tan not large and green. Flesh not metal. His arm fell across his eyes and he sighed. "This is not a good time to start dreaming."

"You are not dreaming," a voice replied. He glanced around the room. It was white, sterile and empty.

"Then I must be crazy."

"No, you're not crazy. At least, I don't think you are. But if you wish to speak to a psychiatrist I can arranged it." The voice was feminine, melodic and not quite real.

"That's ok. I'll pass." He sat up and studied the room. He noticed a mirror—one way, perhaps—but shied away from the thought of facing the human he'd been turned into. The door on the other wall was more interesting. He stood up and swayed slightly. He felt tiny, the ground too close and very stiff, as well, as if this body had beenlying there a very long time.

"Careful," the voice cautioned.

He smirked and nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

He took a wobbly step and looked down. His feet were bare; the floor cold. Oh, well.

"What's your name?" he asked the disembodied voice.

"Ziggy," the voice replied. "What's yours?"

He inspected the firmly locked door. "Springer, Autobot Air Defense, serial..."

"You're not a prisoner of war, Springer.

"I'm not? Feels like it." he answered sharply retreating from the firmly locked door.

"I did not determine the security protocols," Ziggy told him.

"If I'm not a prisoner then why am I here?" He looked about the room indicating not just the room he was being held in.

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Oh?" Sighing again—lungs are good for something—he wandered over to the one way mirror and finally looked at the body he was wearing. Not too bad. Tall and lean, hair brown with a streak of gray. It needed to be cut and combed. He ran his hand through it and rubbed his chin. Didn't human males grow hair on their faces? The brown eyes that looked back were serious. He wondered who this guy was.

"His name is Sam," Ziggy answered the silent question her voice tinged with sadness. "What were you doing before you woke up here?"

The change of subject surprised him. He smirked, I guess two can play this game, he thought. He considered his answer and then decided to tell the truth. "I was getting ready to shoot down some F-15s."

There was a long pause then the door slid open.

"Ziggy?"

"Yes, Al?"

The man with the cigar rolled his eyes. "Have you found him yet?" he snapped impatiently. He paced nervously around the control room clearly frustrated by the delay in locating Sam. The other people in the room watched him silently.

"I'm sorry, Al."

"But he leaped."

"Yes, I'm talking to the person he leaped into right now."

Al's eyes widened. It wasn't often they were coherent enough to carry on a conversation with a disembodied voice. "What's he like?"

"Smart, together. He's military." There was a short pause. "He's taking this all pretty well."

"So, why haven't you found Sam yet?"

"I would guess that he's leaped out of his lifetime."

"Again?"

"And Al?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you should take a look. It's Sam in there not the person he leaped into." Al usually didn't pay too much attention to the people in the waiting room since they tended toward the catatonic. His job was to give Sam the backup and information he needed so he could leap again. He looked into the waiting room through the one-way mirror and found himself staring into Sam's eyes. Except that wasn't Sam in there. The man waved. Al started.

Ziggy snickered. "He can't see you. He's playing games."

Al could see him talking to Ziggy. Ziggy gasped and the waiting room door slid open. "You'd better get in there and talk to him, Al. His name is Springer. I think he's a fighter pilot." Al's eyes widened. Damn, he cursed silently. Are you trying to kill him? he inquired of no one in particular.

Springer dashed for the exit but was cut off by a short man with cropped dark brown hair peppered with gray, large brown eyes and a permanent smirk. He was dressed in the most garish outfit he'd ever seen on a human. It was pink and yellow and shiny. The man touched his shoulder lightly, pushing him back into the room. Springer heard Ziggy's voice in the other room say, "Fighter pilot." He looked very worried.

"No," Springer said. "Helicopter." He backed up to let the man into the room. The door started to close.

"Leave it open, Ziggy."

"Sure, Al"

"I'm Al. Admiral Al Calavicchi."

Springer's eyes widened. "I see," he said quietly, getting the message. He was being told, in no uncertain terms, who was boss. "Springer, Sir."

Al nodded sharply, "And just to reassure you, you haven't been kidnapped, at least not on purpose and you aren't a prisoner here, though, to be honest with you, you will not be allowed to leave the project."

"Those security protocols Ziggy mentioned?"

Al nodded. "Exactly," he said.

"I understand security," Springer answered. He put his hand to his head but when he touched hair, he pulled it back quickly. "I'm just don't understand what's going on."

"Against all project protocol and my better judgment I'm going to tell you what's going on." Al chewed on the unlit cigar he'd been holding in his hand, gathering his thoughts and deciding where to start.

"We have a very big problem, and I think you can help us.

"You are standing in a time travel experiment gone caca." Springer's/Sam's eyes widened in astonishment. "Dr. Sam Beckett, whose body you are occupying, for some skewed reason, conceived and built Project Quantum Leap and then, in a moment of blinding stupidity, became the guinea pig. He's been bouncing through time for a number of years now and we've been unable to recover him." Al started to pace, arms gesturing broadly. "Generally, it's been within his own lifetime but over time the rules seem to have changed. He's even leaped past his birth date. Something we thought was impossible. Now, he's leaped and we can't find him. All we have is you." Al looked back at Springer. "And if what you say is true then he is in great danger."

Springer was stunned. This was not what he expected. Time Travel. "But why do I have this guy's body? He's the one traveling, right?"

"Yeah. That's the confusing part. Normally, the person Sam leaps into arrives here in the waiting room. Now we have Sam with someone else's mind."

Springer nodded as he understood. "I wouldn't've fit in here," he said quietly.

"What?"

"I'm not a 6 foot tall human. I really am a helicopter."

It was Al's turn to look stunned. "Actually," Springer continued. "I'm a Transformer. I'm 15 meters tall. I simply wouldn't fit here."

Al still looked confused. He shook his head. "I still don't get it. What's a Transformer?"

"You might think of us as giant robots who can change their shapes."

Al," Ziggy interrupted, excited. "I think I get it. Sam went sideways. He's in a completely new time line. I can't find him because I'm looking in the wrong place. I'm going to need a lot of information, Springer."

He looked wary. "What sort?"

"Right now, a date, time, location. That sort of thing.."

"OK. March 25, no, 26th, 2002. I'm not sure of the time, I was thinking about other things but the sun was rising. We'd been up all night. Uh, maybe 6:30 Pacific Standard Time." He paused considering. "It's a fair bet that he crashed me." He winced at the thought. "There's no way he could've figured out anything in the time it took the Decepticons to get there. I'd already picked them up on my radar."

"Decepticons?"

"You were right about the danger. I'm sorry to tell you that your man has just become involved in a 9 million year old war."

Al sat down hard on the bed. "You're telling me that Sam is now a helicopter and has come under enemy fire in a war that's been going on for 9 million years?"

"That's about the size of it."

"Oh, my," Ziggy whispered. "Tell me where you were or where he might be right now. You've been here about an hour and it's a one to one time ratio."

"I can't believe that skirmish would've taken too long so I'm guessing that they've had time to move me...him...me...scrap, this is giving me a headache." He scrubbed his face with both hands.

"Tell me about it," Al smirked.

"They've probably moved him to Autobot City by now." He tried to find a map in his files and then stopped when he realized he had no files anymore. "Do you have a map?"

"Yes," said Ziggy. "On the monitor in the control room."

Several people tripped over themselves trying to get out of the way as the pair dashed to the main monitor. Springer looked at a map of North America. "Oregon, please." Ziggy put the more detailed map up and Springer pointed to a spot. "There," he said.

"Got it," Ziggy responded.

"Ziggy?" Al asked.

"I'm working on it." Her sweet voice had a testy edge to it. "Why don't you make Springer more comfortable. I have a feeling this might take a while." Al suddenly realized that Springer was wearing only a hospital gown and wasn't even trying to hold the back closed.

"Tina?" Al called. A young woman looked up from the monitor she'd been watching with more attention than usual. "Yeah, Al?" Her voice was childlike and strongly accented. She tried not to stare at Springer. "Would you get some of Sam's clothes for our guest here. Ask Donna, she'll help you."

"Sure, Al, honey." She slid gracefully out of her chair, face averted politely, and left.

Springer watched her rather odd exit. "What's was that all about?"

Al shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Now, why don't we go back to the waiting room and wait for some clothes."

While Springer dressed, secretly relieved that all the humans in this timeline didn't dress like his host, Al explained more of what Sam's job had been, assuming the identities of the people he leaped into and correcting some little or big thing that had gone wrong with the time line. The part about not letting anyone around him know that something was different made Springer shake his head.

"I don't think he can pull it off," he said. "My friends aren't going to believe it for a second. I doubt I could pass easily as a human. I can't even tie my shoes."

"He has to do it," Al explained as he finished the last knot.

Shaking his head, Springer said, "It's too much. How could he possibly learn to use my body in a few hours. I'm a living machine.

"Sam created this whole project. He built and programmed Ziggy." Al tried to interject.

"Fine, he's brilliant, but has he ever flown a helicopter that can transform into a giant robot which then can transform into a car? I'm also big. Very big. I'm having trouble with this body and I'm not worried about falling and crushing someone. Can you imagine what it must be like for him?

"Plus I can see in visible and infrared light. I can see with my radar. I have thousands of files at my 'fingertips' that I can access just by thinking about them. In another language. One he's never seen before. Oh, and I can hear in a much larger range than a human. The sensory overload alone might shut him/me down."

They stared at each other in silence.

Al broke the stare first. His eyes dropped to the cigar in his hand. Springer's right, Al thought, but why put Sam in this position? Why give him a job that seemed to be clearly impossible. He placed the unlit cigar in his mouth tasting the tobacco and trying to calm his nerves. He looked into Sam's brown eyes but the person looking out wasn't anything like Sam. Ziggy had described him as shrewd but there was more, a weariness and a toughness that he recognized in himself and had seen in the eyes of his fellow pilots during Viet Nam. And he liked Springer. It was a shame he wouldn't be able to get to know him better.

"Al," Ziggy interrupted. "Maybe he's not supposed to fool them..." The computer's voice trailed off, unsure of a suggestion made without enough data.

Al looked at Springer questioningly, "What would they do with him if he told them what was going on?"

Springer shrugged. "Uh, not believe him probably. Confine him to my quarters. I just don't know." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "But it would keep him/me from getting killed."

Springer spent the next few hours talking to Ziggy; telling the AI everything he could about his world. As his voice grew hoarse and his throat sore he wished he could've just downloaded the relevant files into the computer.

Ziggy didn't seem too happy, either. She kept complaining that information about the past was great but what about the future. She couldn't possibly project out a scenario that would be useful to Sam without it. Springer could only shrug. "Sorry. Can't help you there."

Sam held himself perfectly still on the hard surface and watched the stream of nonsensical symbols racing across his field of vision. Some of it reminded him of the computer code he worked with over the years but most was gibberish, symbols without meaning. And the flow was constant, occasionally slowing only to speed up again when he turned his attention to it.

"Where am I?" he wondered. The flow of symbols stopped and hung in front of him, apparently answering his question, except that he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"Who am I this time?" The symbols sped up, flashing by and then slowing slightly but not stopping entirely. I guess you can't answer that question, he mused.

He was reluctant to open his eyes for fear of adding even more information to his already overwhelmed senses. He could hear voices around him. Some even seemed to be speaking to him but he couldn't quite be sure because wherever he was it was crowded with people all talking at once.

He tried to remember what had happened since he'd leaped. Had he really been a helicopter? That had to be a dream. The rushing symbols slowed and halted for a brief instant and then took off again. He moaned softly. The display was dizzying.

"Springer?" Someone touched his arm with a metallic click. The woman's voice was familiar. It was the one he'd heard earlier. He turned his head toward the voice, raising his hand to cover his eyes. His hand encountered something warm, hard and smooth, something very unfleshlike. He jerked his hand away.

The voice's owner grabbed it. "Hey, don't hit me," she said. Her hands were hard and smooth as well, and they made a distinct clink when she grabbed him.

"Sorry," he said in a smooth baritone. She let go of his hand and he touched his face again. It was definitely not flesh and bone. It felt like metal. Maybe it's just armor he thought even though that made less sense then what he was actually thinking. "I don't feel so good," he said.

"I don't doubt it," a gruff, frustrated-sounding man replied. "I'm beginning to wonder about your mental state as well, letting yourself be shot by Starscream and then crashing into the ground." When Sam didn't reply, the voice continued, "Something wrong with your optics?"

"My wha...?" he began and then shut his mouth with a click. "No," he finished.

"Then look at me," the man ordered.

"Uh, I'm uh, really dizzy. I'd prefer not to." Sam said.

"You'd prefer...? Look, Mr. Big-shot Triplechanger, what you'd prefer is irrelevant here. This is my medbay, I give the orders and make the decisions here. You do what I tell you to do, got that?"

"Yes, sir," Sam replied meekly.

There was a long pause. "'Yes, sir?'" the man asked incredulously. He raised his voice and announced, "Did everybody hear that?" The babble of voices faded. "He said, 'Yes sir'. THAT is the way to answer me. Not, 'Go to hell, Ratchet' or 'Get your grubby hands off of me, you slaggin' torturer.' 'Yes sir.'" There was general laughter.

"Well?" Ratchet said, addressing Sam again.

Sam tried to obey but couldn't make his eyes work properly. "I don't think I can..."

"Hmmph, dizzy, nonfunctioning optics. You must've taken a hit to your central processor. Hmmmm." Deft hands touched Sam's head and Ratchet hummed quietly. "Nope, nothing. Everything looks normal," he announced a moment later. "Let me try something."

Instantly Sam's vision returned. The data stream that had been the center of his vision parted and flowed into his peripheral vision. Front and center was Ratchet. The silvery gray face of the medic smirked at him. Sam's jaw dropped in astonishment; completely unprepared for what he saw. The medic wasn't a man at all but a robot with glowing blue eyes, a white, helmeted head and a dark gray chevron in the middle of his forehead. His white arms were crossed over his chest which consisted of a large expanse of glass, almost like a windshield.

"Better?" The robot asked. "How about the dizziness?" He placed his red hands on the bed and leaned forward, peering into Sam's eyes. Despite his gruffness and sarcasm he seemed concerned about Sam's, or Springer's actually, well-being.

"Um, yes," Sam said. "It is better." And it was better. Without the constant stream of symbols racing by he felt less queasy.

"Humph, as far as I can see you should be perfectly fine, not just 'better'." Ratchet shook his head. "I'd feel better about the whole thing if you were trying to escape from me. This is not normal."

The medic looked up and over Sam. "Arcee, I want you to keep an optic on him, got it?"

Sam turned and looked at "Arcee." Another robot, obviously female, curvy where Ratchet was boxy. She had the same blue eyes, no, optics that Ratchet had but her colors were varying shades of pink and white.

She smiled at Ratchet. "You can depend on me," she said.

Ratchet smirked at Sam again and one optic flashed briefly in what could only be a wink. Then he turned away and yelled, "Hey, you, get your aft back up there, I'm not done with you."

Sam watched him leave and then looked back at Arcee. She was studying him with a critical optic.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I don't know. You're just not acting like yourself."

"I'm not feeling much like myself, right now, " Sam joked taking the opportunity to inspect his hands and arms. He'd learned long ago to think on his feet or back, as the case may be, to gather information to help him blend in. Though blending into a group of robots seemed to be the weirdest assignment ever.

Sam studied the pale green hands and darker green arms. His hands were large and capable looking, much larger than Arcee's rather small almost delicate hands. It appeared that Springer was also a robot.

Sam puzzled over this. Never before had he actually been the person he'd leaped into. Everybody else saw him as that person, but he always saw himself. Except in mirrors.

"You should probably get some more rest, then," she told him. He wondered about their relationship. Ratchet seemed to imply that they were more than friends but Arcee behaved like a concerned friend and nothing more.

"Hey, I hear ol' Greeny finally decided to join the land of the living," a new voice shouted from the door of the medbay.

Sam watched Arcee's expression change and knew immediately who the object of her affections was. He turned his head to watch the new arrival amble towards them. He was flamboyantly painted in reds and oranges with a yellow spoiler on his shoulders and flames on his chest. A striking and handsome figure. Sam could understand the attraction.

"Hot Rod," Arcee called to him.

"And look who I found wandering around outside." He pointed to the ground and Sam looked down at the two small figures next to Hot Rod's foot.

Why does he have dolls? he wondered. Then his mind did a flip-flop as he realized what he was looking at. The room's perspective grew suddenly huge as he stared down at the full grown man and the small boy sitting on his shoulders dwarfed by the giant leg next to them. He clutched at the edges of the bed to keep from falling. He faintly heard Arcee call his name and then call for Ratchet. He wasn't just a robot, he was a **giant** robot.

"Oh, boy..." he mumbled.

**INTERLUDE**

Time and space meant nothing to the Matrix. It was limited only by the imagination of its bearer. In the millions of years it had been a part of Optimus Prime, it had never been called upon to explore its limits so it had remained quiescent. But now its continued existence was in jeopardy. It had to act.

Again it reached out, but this time it pushed past the barrier of its own universe and time searching for...something. It didn't know what yet. When it found it; however, it would know.

**March 27, 2002**

"I've found him!" Ziggy's triumphant shout startled Springer from a doze. He sat up abruptly from the computer station his head had been resting on and groaned as stiff muscles protested the sudden movement.

Al pulled up sharply from what felt like his millionth circuit of the control room, joy flooding his face.

"Ziggy, I love you," he shouted.

"I know, Al. You can't help it," the computer quipped. "Handlink is programmed and ready. I'm opening the Imaging Chamber now."

"I could kiss you," he responded.

"Later," the computer bantered back.

Al grabbed the handlink from its pocket next to the Imaging Chamber door. He turned and looked at Springer. "Well, c'mon. I think I'm going to need your help." Springer jumped up and joined Al at the door. Without another glance at the former robot, Al began jabbing furiously at the buttons on the flashing handlink and reading the resulting data. Head bowed over the device he marched through the open door and into the Imaging Chamber. Springer followed closely behind inspecting the room curiously.

"Only Sam can see me," Al explained. "We are not actually with him. We are just holographic images that Sam can see and hear because of certain...steps he took when designing and building Ziggy." He looked up from the handlink and then up and up as he became aware of the size of the room they were in.

"Where are we?" he muttered around the cigar in his mouth.

"The medbay," Springer said.

Surprised, Al turned to look at him. "You can see this?"

He took the cigar out of his mouth and punched some more buttons. "I should've guessed. You're wearing Sam's body. Sam and I are the only ones who can see and hear what's happening inside the chamber."

He grinned and jabbed the cigar at Springer. "This is great. You'll be able to talk directly to him. That's a big time saver." He looked up and around again at the dimly lit room. Giant beds loomed over his head and in the distance he caught a glimpse of his first Transformer. The white robot leaned over one of beds but Al couldn't see what was on it.

"God Almighty," he whispered, astonished by the scale. He turned to look at Springer, eyes wide. "Are you that big?" he asked.

Springer looked the white robot up and down. "Bigger," he said smirking. Al's eyes widened more.

"That's Ratchet." Springer continued. "He's pretty average for an Autobot. Some are bigger. Some are smaller." He shoved Al gently further into the room, snapping the man out of his frozen state.

"This isn't going to work, Al," Springer said after a few neck-straining minutes of looking around. "We're too small." He rubbed his neck. "I'm beginning to see the difficulties the humans have dealing with us, and the minibots," he added.

It was Al's turn to smirk. "That is something I can take care of." He jabbed at the handlink. It blinked, beeped then screamed painfully. They winced and Al banged it with his hand. It beeped once more. Then the room began to shrink. Or they began to grow. "We're just holograms, after all," Al explained.

The room stabilized, giving the the two a much better view of their surroundings. Springer scanned the medbay looking for himself. Or his body, he thought. Al continued to stare, totally fascinated by the scene. The robot called Ratchet was tending to a large, golden-yellow robot lying in a state of disarray on the table. A red and black Transformer was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and watching every move Ratchet made with a critical eye. The rest of the room was empty except for...

"There he is...I am...oh, whatever," Springer said. He pointed at the large green robot lying motionless on a bed, his arm flung across his optics.

"Uh, oh," Springer added.

"What?" Al asked, turning his attention back to his companion.

"Something must have happened. He's got a guard." He nodded at the large black Transformer sitting by the wall. "That's Trailbreaker. Nice guy but strong. Strong enough to restrain me...him...if necessary."

Al didn't like the sound of that. Sam was an old pro at sizing up the situation and blending in even if it meant just keeping his mouth shut and waiting. This leap was definitely not going well on either end. Al didn't even want to consider the thought that they all were in way over their heads.

The shortest route to any object was a straight line and Al took that path straight through tables, transformers, and carts of supplies like they weren't there because, to him they weren't.

"Sam?" Al leaned over and examined his friend. He didn't like what he saw or sensed. "You okay, buddy?"

The arm covering the robot's optics dropped to his side and Sam turned his head to stare at Al. The robot's blue optics were dull and he seemed confused and unable to focus well on the figure before him. Then Sam recognized Al and relief flooded his face followed by joy and then anger.

Trailbreaker looked up from the datapad in his hands when Sam moved. He started to rise. but when his charge didn't do anything dangerous, he resumed his reading.

"Al?" Sam whispered. "Where..."

Al shook his head in warning and glanced over at Trailbreaker. Trailbreaker was watching Sam again.

"Quiet, Sam, let me talk. I'm sorry, Sam. I really am, but we couldn't find you right away. This is the weirdest leap you've ever made. Even Ziggy is freaking out. If it hadn't been for Springer, we'd never have found you."

Sam finally noticed the man standing next to Al. His optics brightened in surprise as he stared at his own body. Springer stared back, amused but also tense and concerned.

"But we're going to get you through this," Al told Sam reassuringly. He glanced at Springer. "We need to get him out of here," Al said indicating Trailbreaker. "Any suggestions?"

Springer was studying Sam and he didn't like what he was seeing. Sam looked like he was on the verge of shutdown. "I have an idea. When was the last time you refueled?" Sam shook his head. "Ask Trailbreaker for some Energon. It'll get him out of the way for a few minutes plus if you're going to be using my body, you're going to have to take care of it." There was no amusement in that comment. Springer was serious.

"Trailbreaker?" Sam repeated. Springer nodded. Sam pushed himself up carefully on one elbow and turned his head to look at his large guard. Trailbreaker was already on his feet at the sound of his name.

"He speaks," he chuckled coming to Sam's side. "What can I do for you, son?"

His manner was fatherly and concerned and, to Sam's surprise, rather comforting. Even Springer was surprised at this. All his encounters with the truck had been rather businesslike.

"I think...I think I could use some Energon," Sam replied. The weakness in his voice was not feigned.

"Not a bad idea. Looks to me like you could use some." He frowned at Sam. "Can I trust ya to stay put?"

Sam nodded and lowered himself back down. "I promise to stay put," he replied.

"Good enough. Don't make me regret this," Trailbreaker cautioned before heading off to talk to Ratchet.

When he was out of range, Sam turned his attention to his friend. "Al, what is going on? Where am I?" he whispered fiercely. "How can I be a robot? How can there be giant robots? And what the hell am I supposed to do here?"

"Sam, calm down. I'll explain as much as I can. Unfortunately, it isn't much. Ziggy hasn't had a chance to gather much information. The instant she found you we came."

"So you don't know what I'm supposed to do?"

"No, she hasn't figured that out yet. But we do know that you're in Oregon. You're just not in our Oregon. The date is March 27th, 2002. This is the medbay in Autobot City which is a couple hundred miles southeast of Portland." Sam opened his mouth to speak and Al shushed him. "Questions later. Let me give you everything we have first then you can ask questions.

"You've leaped into an Autobot named Springer who is not only a giant robot, but a giant, transforming robot. Springer has been on Earth only a few months. He is part of a group who arrived from their home planet, Cybertron, as reinforcements and replacements for the original group of Autobots who've been on Earth for 4 million years." Sam's optics brightened again.

"But," Springer added. "They've only been awake and active since 1984, Earth time. But that's not as important as knowing that the Autobots have been fighting for 9 million years with a group of Transformers called Decepticons. "

"Sam," Al continued. "You've leaped into the middle of a war."

"And just about every single mech you see here is expected to fight." Springer continued to explain as quickly as he could the Transformers' history on Earth.

When Springer stopped talking, Sam sighed. "Oh, boy," he muttered.

"Yeah, oh, boy," Al said.

"So, what's next?" Sam asked.

"Springer believes that you'll never pull this off."

Sam looked at his body standing next to Al. The person occupying it wore it with an easy confidence Sam doubted he'd ever possessed. Springer was obviously highly adaptable but, then, so was Sam. It was something he'd had to learn over the years, and he was good at it. Just as he was about to tell them this he frowned thoughtfully. This whole leap was unusual. Unusual? Downright weird described it better. He nodded. "You could be right," he said. "What do you have in mind, then?"

The holograms exchanged looks. "Can we get back to you on that?" Al said, "It's just a thought and Ziggy is still gathering data."

He punched at the handlink and the Imaging Chamber door slid open. Before stepping through the ephemeral opening, Al turned back. "Sam? One thing. How did you earn a guard?"

"I, uh, sort of lost it," Sam answered.

Al's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "You lost it?"

"Yeah. Actually, things were going pretty well. I was a getting a real good feel for the situation, talking to Arcee and Ratchet. Then Hot Rod came in. He had a man and a boy with him."

"Spike and Daniel," Springer supplied.

"I don't know who they were. I never found out because that's when I realized the giant robot thing. I guess I panicked. Next thing I know I'm being wrestled back down to the bed and Ratchet's all over me. I remember begging them not to tie me down." Al winced sympathetically. "Then I'm feeling all nice and relaxed..."

"Talking to yourself, son?" Trailbreaker interrupted Sam. He had a number of containers piled precariously in his arms. He dumped them onto a supply cart and handed one to Sam. "Ratchet says to take it slow but to drink as much as you need."

Trailbreaker snagged one for himself and Sam watched surreptitiously as the big transformer twisted the lid off the container and took a long swallow of the glowing pink substance inside.

Sam copied the large robot's movements but couldn't bring himself to taste the contents of the container. Springer made a drinking motion with his hand and Sam took a reluctant sip. He grinned as the liquid evaporated pleasantly in his mouth and then drained the container swiftly. Taking another container, he drank it more slowly letting the Energon revitalize him.

This leap had not been going well, even compared to some others that he could vaguely remember, but his renewed energy also renewed his confidence, which had been badly shaken. He felt much more able to cope with his new body and the unknown challenge ahead of him. This wasn't much different than being a woman or child or even a chimp, he thought. Well, it was a lot different but nothing he didn't think he could handle.

Al could see the change come over his friend. His optics brightened and he held his body with more confidence and energy. He gave Sam a thumbs up and a smirk and stepped out of the Imaging Chamber.

Springer looked him up and down thoughtfully. "Get some shutdown. You'll feel even better after a good recharge." He yawned suddenly and looked surprised.

Sam grinned. "Looks like you could use some sleep, too," he whispered.

Springer chuckled and rubbed tired eyes then ran his hand through his hair leaving it standing on end.

"Yes, I think I've reached the limits of this body. Your body," he amended. "I can't expect you to give more than I'm willing to give. I'll take care of it." They stared at each other for a beat before Springer turned and followed Al through Imaging Chamber door.

Sam watched the door slide shut and tried to ignore the feeling of loneliness and abandonment that always came over him when Al left. Al was his anchor to his life and he always had that vague worry that he wouldn't return. Yet, he always did. He gazed up at the shadowed ceiling and listened to the quiet mutterings of Ratchet and a robot, Autobot he reminded himself, that he hadn't met yet as they worked on the yellow figurelying on the table.

For the first time this leap he felt relaxed and well. His limbs became heavy and the sounds and lights of his surroundings faded away.

Al exited the Imaging Chamber, slipped the handlink into its slot, and said, "Please tell me you've found something, Ziggy."

"Al, you'll be the first to be informed of anything new," Ziggy replied huffily.

Springer stepped into the control room just in time to hear Ziggy's tart reply. He grinned at Al, then yawned hugely.

"I get no respect," Al confided to Springer. "And you could use some decent sleep. There's a cot in my office." He pointed his cigar at an open door at the opposite end of the control room. "Use it. I'll wake you up when we know something. And don't worry about Sam or your body," he added. "Sam's a pro. Trust him."

Springer nodded, "I do trust him. This is an impressive accomplishment." He stretched wearily. "I just wish I knew what was going on."

He trudged wearily to Al's office. The room was utilitarian. The desk was bare of personal belongings occupied only by a computer monitor and keyboard. A leather chair was the only piece of luxury visible. The cot was as utilitarian as the office and was pushed against the far wall.

Springer lowered himself gratefully to the hard surface and kicked off his shoes without untying them. He laid down, hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling unconsciously imitating Sam. This was a story Arcee and Hot Rod would love. I hope I get to tell them about it, he thought and drifted off to sleep.

Al leaned back in a chair in front of a control panel and sipped his coffee. The control room had grown quiet as most of the programmers had gone off to sleep while Sam slept. He remained awake; however, and anxious as always about Sam. He'd sleep later.

"Al," Ziggy interrupted the quiet moment. Al sat up straight.

"What do you have?" he asked.

"I didn't want to say anything earlier because I was still analyzing the data but..." The Computer hesitated.

"Ziggy," Al encouraged. "Spill it."

There was a long pause. "I am only able to access public records at this time, and the Autobots have not been all that forthcoming to the press about their activities. There is a report of a minor battle near Autobot City within the next few days. Unfortunately, there are no details, no casualty reports, no mention of who participated. It seems that Humans have so much trouble keeping the two sides straight that they've ceased trying.

"And while I hate to make guesses..."

"Heaven forbid," Al muttered.

"I would surmise that the battle is the reason Sam is there."

"But?"

"But I just don't have enough information..."

"You've been able to access public records for later dates? Maybe you can find something useful a few years later."

"I have done that, Al," Ziggy huffed.

Al smirked into one of Ziggy's cameras. "Try again. We know more names now; Autobots who have interacted with Sam. Look for references to them. And have you figured out if Sam should reveal himself to the Autobots?"

"I've run scenarios, yes. With the information I have, the odds of Sam succeeding do seem to improve slightly with that action. It could only mean that he doesn't get himself killed, though."

Al sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Well, that's something, anyway."

Sam came online in the medbay feeling better then he'd felt in a long time. Sleeping, recharging he reminded himself for the 100th time, through the night and drinking a couple more containers of Energon had made all the difference in his outlook. He was still bothered by the constant stream of symbols across his visual field but was beginning to tune them out of his consciousness. He couldn't ask Ratchet about it. He'd wait for Springer and Al to show up and ask Springer.

He sat up and swung his legs around letting his feet rest on the floor. He was thinking about standing up when he was distracted by a voice from the medbay entrance.

"Hey, Spring." Sam swiveled around to looked in the direction of the loud stage whisper. Hot Rod peered around the corner of the door. "Ratchet here?" That quirky half-grin Hot Rod wore spelled trouble in any species, Sam thought.

"He's in his office. Apparently, he's been up too long." Sam gestured at a white Autobot with green and red markings bent over the injured Autobot. "He made him stop working a couple of hours ago."

Hot Rod ignored the explanation, seemingly satisfied that Ratchet wasn't around. His secretive air dissipated as he entered the room and waved jauntily at the other Autobot. "Hey, Wheeljack, how ya doin'?" Wheeljack glanced up at him, waved half-heartedly and returned to his work.

Stopping in front of Sam, hands on hips, Hot Rod inspected him thoroughly with a critical eye. "I've been looking all over for you. Why are you still here? You look fine to me."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

Hot Rod circled the bed continuing his rambling conversation. "Actually, I kind of need a place to hide out for a while. This is as good as any. Quiet, unsupervised at the moment." He stopped when he found what he was looking for. Removing the datapad from the slot at the bed's head, he scrolled through the most recent entries.

Snickering, he said, "Ratchet thinks you're a head case."

"I don't think you're supposed to be looking at that," Sam protested reaching for the datapad.

Hot Rod held it out of his reach while continuing to read. "'Springer seems to be showing signs of battle fatigue including but not limited to memory loss, panic episodes, inability to shut down and recharge.' You? Battle fatigue? Not likely."

He eyed Sam again studying his face closely. "Not that I believe any of this, but what is going on with you? I cannot understand why you would stay here willingly. Ratchet doesn't know you like I do, but he's right. You are not acting like yourself. Arcee has said the same thing. Did you hit your head or something?"

Sam started to answer when the door to the imaging chamber opened behind Hot Rod. Sam's optics slid away from the young robot's face.

Hot Rod pointed at him angrily, "That's what I mean. You just space out like you're listening to voices in your head." He shook his head sadly. "I don't understand."

Sam quickly returned his attention to Hot Rod locking his optics onto the robot's worried face. He ignored the Al and Springer. Al consulted the handlink and entered some data, probably details of the conversation they'd walked into.

"Sam," Al said. "Ziggy says there's a 92 probability of success if you tell everyone who you are. And judging from this conversation, I don't think anything else will work. There's just too much you don't know."

Loud footsteps outside the medbay distracted everyone and they all turned toward the door except Hot Rod, who looked around frantically.

"Scrap, Kup's found me," he moaned. He ducked down behind Sam's bed, making himself as small as possible. Sam stared at him.

"What are you..."

"Don't tell him I'm here," Hot Rod pleaded.

Sam turned back to the door in time to see a small, dull grayish-green robot, probably Kup; followed by an enormous red, white and blue robot, stomp into the room. Both were obviously angry.

The smaller robot glared at Sam. "Have you seen him?" he demanded.

"Who?"

"That circuit-addled young fool."

"Hot Rod?" Sam guessed.

"Yes, Hot Rod," Kup responded sarcastically.

"Um..." Sam shrugged and glanced down at Hot Rod's hiding place. Kup rounded the bed and grabbed the young robot by his yellow spoiler yanking him to his feet.

"Thanks for nothing," Hot Rod muttered stealing a glance at Sam.

Kup gave him a shake, and Hot Rod met his glare defiantly. "So," Kup scolded. "You do know right from wrong. I wasn't sure. Not after hearing from the Portland Police."

"I was just blowing off some steam, Ultra Magnus, sir..." Hot Rod ventured, bringing the other Autobot into the conversation.

Ultra Magnus stepped forward and handed Hot Rod a datapad. "This is not 'blowing off steam'," he said, his rich voice demanding everyone's attention.

Hot Rod barely glanced at the pad.

"I believe our rules are very clear about this type of behavior. And this is not the first time we've had complaints about you." He took the pad from Hot Rod's unresisting fingers. "You are relieved of duty until further notice." Hot Rod's optics widened. "And restricted to Autobot City. Further punishment will be determined later."

"But...but," Hot Rod sputtered.

Ultra Magnus turned to leave, ignoring the astonished Autobot.

Springer spoke up suddenly. "Stop him, Sam. You need to tell them and he's the one to talk to."

"Wait," Sam almost shouted quickly. "I...I need to tell you something."

Ultra Magnus turned and looked at the displaced scientist. "Can it wait, Springer?"

Sam shook his head. "That's what I need to tell you. I'm not Springer."

All around him heads turned to stare. "Get Ratchet out here," Magnus said calmly but firmly.

Kup released Hot Rod's spoiler, giving him another shake for good measure and crossed the medbay at a trot. Hot Rod, current troubles forgotten, stared at Sam in shock. Magnus studied him intently, offering no comment.

"And I don't need to be sedated again," Sam added glancing nervously towards Ratchet's office as the medic appeared at the door. Kup spoke quietly to Ratchet who frowned and glared at Sam over the older Autobot's shoulder.

"I don't think that will be necessary," Magnus reassured him. "Obviously something very strange is going on..."

"And we're going to get to the bottom of it," Ratchet interrupted looking frustrated, annoyed and tired. "I have enough troubles without you frying your CPU." He shook his head. "I will be so glad when I can get away from this nut house and join Prime," he muttered. "OK, I'm listening, let's hear your little story."

"Um," Sam began uncertainly. He wasn't sure how to start since he'd never really had to tell the story. He glanced over at Al and Springer. Al looked up from the handlink and gave him a thumbs up.

"I'm from the future. Well, only a few years into the future.

"My name is Sam, Dr. Sam Beckett. I created a project called Quantum Leap. Quantum Leap was or is an experiment in time travel but something went wrong."

The Autobots exchanged odd looks. Hot Rod looked like he'd been sat on by a Dinobot.

"I needed to prove it would work so I took the first leap. And it did work. Sort of. I was supposed to just observe the past but instead I found myself replacing people and living their lives, changing the past to correct the future."

"So, you're from our future and you're here in Springer's body to change something?"

Sam shook his head. "That's the problem. This isn't my past. There are no Transformers in my time. Never have been. At least, as far as I can remember. Leaping tends to scramble my memory but I'd think I'd remember you guys." He grinned.

Ultra Magnus didn't react to Sam's humor. "Where is Springer?"

"Sam," Al interrupted. "I don't think it's a good idea to tell them that we're here. They're antsy enough."

"Springer is in the future," Sam answered. "He's safe, if that's what you're worried about."

Ultra Magnus studied Sam for a moment in silence then beckoned to Kup and Ratchet. They moved off to confer privately.

Al continued watching the handlink for a moment then looked up at Sam. "Things are really looking up, Sam."

Finally the three mechs seemed to come to a decision. Ratchet looked very unhappy while Kup just kept shaking his head. Ultra Magnus kept his expression neutral. They turned back to Sam.

"How are we to know that this isn't some elaborate practical joke cooked up by the two of you." Ultra Magnus included Hot Rod in his stare.

Hot Rod looked surprised at the accusation. "Whoa, now, wait a minute. Not me. Not this time. This is just too weird, even for me."

The city commander nodded, accepting Hot Rod at his word. "I think we need a little more proof than merely your say so."

"You could ask me something that Springer wouldn't know," Sam offered.

"It would have to be something that Springer couldn't possibly know anything about."

"Earth history?" Sam offered.

Hot Rod shook his head. "Springer took all the history tapes. Just like me."

Al looked at Springer. Springer shrugged. "Earth music?" he supplied.

Sam brightened. "The Beatles. Ask me about the Beatles."

"What are the Beatles?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"Perfect," Ratchet agreed. "But we'll have to get someone here who does know something about them."

Ultra Magnus turned on his comm., "Blaster," he called.

"Blaster blasting at ya! What's the good word, Magnus?"

"Can you page Spike and get him down to Medical?"

"No can do, Mags. Spike and Carly are in Portland."

Ultra Magnus rubbed his optics. "What do you know of the Beatles, Blaster?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, man, Magnus, I'm not the one to ask about that group. I think you want Jazz for that assignment." There was a pause. "But he's officially off-duty and has left word not to be disturbed unless Devastator and Bruticus are both sitting on the front stoop playing Go, Fish and maybe not even then."

"Call him and tell him to get his sorry aft down to medical right now," Ratchet interrupted. "Tell him that Ratchet will drag him down here by his scrawny little horns if he gives you an argument."

"I hear ya, Doc." Blaster chuckled. "One Jazzman on the way."

They all stared at each other in uncomfortable silence until Hot Rod couldn't stand it any longer. He poked Sam in the shoulder. "You say you're here to change the past. What kind of things do you do? What are you supposed to be changing?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I don't really remember too much. Little things, I think. A lot of times I don't even know I've done something." He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do here. I'm not sure I should tell you even if I did know."

A jovial voice interrupted them. "Ratchet, old buddy, I have dragged my sorry aft down to medical at your command." And since I don't see a game of Go, Fish being played, it had better be for a good reason because you've interrupted some fine music and a load of packing." The black and white Autobot standing at the medbay entrance glanced over the group before returning his visored gazed to Ratchet. His voice may have been jovial, but he wasn't smiling.

Ratchet grabbed Jazz by his arm and dragged him over to Sam and the others. "Jazz, you are about to hear a story you won't believe."

"I don't know, man, I've heard some pretty far-out stories in my time."

Ratchet nodded at Sam, "Tell him what you told us."

Sam drew air through his intakes and his optics met Jazz's visor. Jazz did, indeed, have horns on his helmet. He folded his arms across his large white chest and stared back at him, waiting. As Sam repeated the story, Jazz's mouth began to curve up into a grin and before Sam could finish, the Autobot burst into laughter.

He slapped Sam on the shoulder, "That, Springer, m' man, is the best story I've heard in ages." He grinned at Hot Rod. "You two come up with this? Ratchet, thanks for sharing. I really needed a good laugh."

"Sorry to break it to you, Jazz," Ratchet said, "But we didn't call you here to share a practical joke."

Jazz tried to get serious again but continued to chuckle quietly.

"We have reason to believe that he is telling the truth; however, proving it has posed a problem."

"Uh, huh, I can imagine," Jazz said. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"Ask him some questions. About a subject we're pretty sure Springer has no knowledge of."

"So, you want me to be the Quiz Master, huh? Lay it on me, man."

"Dr. Beckett here," Ultra Magnus glanced at Sam almost humoring him. "Suggests a quiz about The Beatles. Blaster informs us that you are the only available authority on this subject."

Jazz rubbed his chin thoughtfully while he studied Sam. "Yep, I think that's something I can handle." He held out his hand. "Jazz," he said still grinning broadly.

Sam shook hands with him. "Sam Beckett."

Behind him, Springer spoke up. "This is good. Jazz is a good 'bot, he'll treat you fairly, though I think Magnus finds him annoying."

"A time-traveling body-snatcher, huh? Life does have a way of coming out of left field sometimes," Jazz remarked. Sam nodded in heartfelt agreement. "Okay, we'll start with an easy one. Name The Beatles."

"John, Paul, George and Ringo," Sam responded instantly.

"Full names," Jazz shot back.

"John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr."

"What is Ringo's real name?"

"Richard Starkey."

Jazz paused, already convinced but sure that the others would probably like to hear a few more questions. "I think we need something a little harder. Who was the original drummer for the group and, for the heck of it, their original name?"

Sam stretched and rubbed the back of his head before answering, searching his swiss-cheese memory for the information. "Um, Peter Best, I think. And do you mean The Silver Beatles or the Quarrymen?"

Jazz chuckled. "Either is good." He turned to the intently listening audience. "Well, guys, I'm convinced. This is not Springer. No way." He shook his head seemingly unable to believe it himself.

Sam watched the Autobots' faces as they absorbed Jazz' announcement. Magnus appeared calm, coolly processing the information. Kup was skeptical while Ratchet looked like he was going to blow a gasket. Hot Rod stared at Sam, his expression unreadable. Sam knew that he and Springer were friends—very good friends, in fact—who'd been together a long time. He didn't want to know what Hot Rod was thinking. Their optics met for an instant before the other Autobot turned away.

Then total chaos erupted. Everybody, except Magnus, began talking at once. Al clamored for Sam's attention behind him. Springer tried to reassure him that Hot Rod would be ok. Kup grumbled about troop strength since it looked like Springer was out. Jazz stood back and watched with amusement, waiting for things to sort themselves out. Ratchet yelled ineffectually for silence.

Noticing Ratchet's dilemma, Wheeljack tossed Ratchet a large socket wrench, and Ratchet slammed it hard against the wall. Startled into silence by the loud clang, the group stared at the angry medic.

"Now that I have your attention," he began sweetly. "I want you all the slag out of here. You are disturbing my patients and my crew. You are serving no useful purpose here. Now, get out!" he shouted in conclusion.

Hot Rod had already slunk to the door and had vanished through it before Ratchet had finished. Kup glared back at Ratchet but Ultra Magnus laid a hand on his shoulder and directed him out of the room. Jazz gazed bemusedly at Sam until Ratchet tapped him on the shoulder.

"You are not exempt," he drawled at the black and white Autobot.

Jazz shook himself from his contemplation. "Heh, yeah, right, man." He rubbed his helmet and horns, still gazing thoughtfully at Sam, then turning to Ratchet, he said, "Let me know how this all turns out, ya dig?"

"Sure, Jazz," Ratchet replied. "When First Aid is up to speed, I'll be heading to Cybertron myself. I'll fill you in then."

"Good enough," he replied. "Welp, gotta finish packin' up." He turned once more to stare at Sam. "Good luck, Sam," he finally said before he headed out of the medbay.

Ratchet watched Jazz leave before turning to Sam. "You sure shook him up. That's fraggin' hard to do. The others, they get upset if they miss Nascar but Jazz lives for this kind of stuff." Ratchet picked up his scanner. "Now that I know what's up with you, I'm going to go over you one more time. If anything is giving you trouble, tell me. And I'm going to keep you here one more night, just in case. Tomorrow you belong to Magnus, but until then you're mine."

Hand on Sam's chest, Ratchet pushed him down to the bed and hooked up the scanner to a port in the side of his head.

Sam turned his head slightly to see Al and Springer. Al put his cigar in his mouth and chewed it for a second then spoke around it,. "That went well," he drawled.

Springer grinned. "Better than I thought. I think Jazz is more upset because he won't be around to see what happens, though. And Hot Rod. Just wait, by tomorrow he'll be your best friend again."

"Anything else?" Al asked trying to cover all the bases before leaving the Imaging Chamber.

Springer shook his head. "If anything should come up, just ask Ratchet, Wheeljack or First Aid. I know I need some fuel or shutdown or something because I'm having trouble staying online. I mean awake."

Al smirked nodding in agreement. "Sam, the minute we get anything from Ziggy we'll be back if not sooner. Just relax for now. Until we know more, there isn't much to be done. Take it easy, kid," Al finished with a wave and the two holograms walked through the hologram door and vanished.

Ratchet unplugged the scanner and packed it away. "Everything still checks out normal. I want you to rest but you can get up if you feel like it. Just don't leave the medbay," he warned.

"Yes, sir," Sam answered.

Ratchet practically glowed with good humor. "You know, I like you. I like your attitude. I wish the others shared it." He chuckled softly as he left Sam's side and rejoined Wheeljack over the other patient in the medbay.

Sam smiled to himself and then frowned. Ok, he thought, I've done everything I've been told to do. Tell me what's going on. What's next? When no answer came he blew air out his intakes and shut off his optics, too weary to think about it anymore.

**INTERLUDE**

The Matrix reached out in many directions. Some of its tendrils merely searched the past while others crossed over dimensional barriers creating an intricate web. During its searches it touched many computers with many abilities. Some were wise, others merely intelligent.

One was a bit more. It possessed an ability even the Matrix didn't have. It could manipulate time. The Matrix rejoiced. It had seen many futures but had despaired because it could do nothing. Now, though, it could manipulate time by manipulating this computer. It could change what had gone wrong.

**March 28, 2002**

The medbay was deep in night shadows when Sam came online again. Only a single light illuminated the yellow Autobot laying supine on the repair bed and the medic working on him. Sam stared up into the shadows and the ceiling hidden there and wondered.

_Now what_, he thought_. I feel great and ready to go, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I have to do something, I can't stand laying here anymore._

He swung his feet around and off the bed and sat up. His feet clanged softly on the floor but the empty room picked up the sound and magnified it. The red and white medic looked up, nodded at him and went back to work.

Since the medic didn't seem to object, Sam pushed himself up to his feet where he stood swaying slightly as his diminutive balance centers tried to keep the giant body upright. It annoyed him that it was taking far too long to get use to this body especially since it seemed that Springer hadn't had the same problem.

That makes sense, I suppose, he thought. Springer has been up and around since the beginning of this leap. I've been flat out on my back the whole time. Well, it was time to put things right.

He relaxed, trying to forget his human impulses, and let the body do the work. He took a step forward and grinned. That was easy. He took another step and another managing to work his way around the bed and feeling quite comfortable about it. He flexed, twisted, and stretched his new joints listening to faint noises the body made. Amazing, he thought. I am a machine. I'm not sure I'd believe it was possible if I wasn't seeing it for myself.

Satisfied that he was in complete control of his body, Sam looked around. Keeping busy seemed to be the priority now. No morelying around in bed if he could help it. He need information just as much as Ziggy needed it to function, so his next step was to start gathering it. The red and white Autobot seemed like a good place to start.

He headed across the shadowed medbay and the medic looked up at the sound of his approaching footsteps.

"Getting the kinks worked out?" he asked, his voice gentle and quiet.

Sam opened his mouth to answer but snapped it shut when he got a good look at the medic's face. Or lack of it. Actually, he had no nose or mouth, just a mask and a bright blue optic band instead of two eyes or optic sensors.

The medic cocked his head at Sam. "You all right?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I...I just thought you all had regular faces," he said uncomfortably.

The medic continued to silently watch him. Sam had no way to tell if he'd offended the Autobot or not. Then the band of light flashed briefly and the robot's shoulders shook and Sam realized he was laughing.

"Sorry," Sam said.

"No problem. Like humans, Transformers have unique features. This is all new to you. You're allowed to be confused. I'm First Aid," he finished.

"Sam," Sam replied. "My life is confusing. I just go with it most of the time. This is actually kind of a relief. I can act clueless and not risk getting thrown into an insane asylum."

First Aid gave Sam one last look and returned his attention to his patient. "Don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions," he said, his hands now deep inside the unconscious Transformer's leg.

Sam's optics dropped from First Aid to the yellow Autobot laid out in front of him, his inner workings exposed. Sam studied the machine curiously. He could see some pretty obvious internal damage—melted and fused wiring and melted outer armor. Most of the outer armor had been removed but some was still adhered to his internal components.

It must be pretty serious, he thought. They've been working nonstop on him since I arrived.

Sam finished his inspection with the Autobot's face. Sam stared at the perfect features. "He's beautiful," he sighed. "Like an angel."

"Who? Sunstreaker?" First Aid spared a glance for the unconscious warrior's face. "Yes, he is, isn't he? He thinks so, too. But he's no angel. Far from it. The humans would say he has the devil in him. He's shutdown because we don't want to listen to his complaints. His injuries are pretty painful and it's just easier to work on him like this."

"What happened?"

"The Decepticons have a new weapon that they tried out during the last battle. An acid so corrosive that a direct hit on a vital area could be quickly fatal." First Aid shook his head. "Apparently, his brother, Sideswipe, saw the projectile coming and warned Sunstreaker to get out of the way. He leaped out of the way but wasn't quite fast enough. Caught him in the legs. Quick thinking on everybody's part saved his legs but Sideswipe nearly lost a hand. Nasty stuff."

"Can I help?" Sam asked. First Aid stared at Sam with a surprised tilt of his head. "I am a medical doctor. And I do know my way around a car's engine."

"I thought you were a physicist."

"Well, that, too," Sam admitted. "I've...dabbled...in a lot of things. But I really need something to do. I was getting jumpy sitting around."

First Aid nodded. "Okay, sure. We'll start off simple." He pointed at a tool that resembled a dental pick. "Use that to separate as many of the fused wires there," he pointed back at a clump of wires. "From the inside of his leg."

Sam nodded and bent down to work wishing he could get closer look. Suddenly, the clump of wires expanded and filled his vision. He gasped and pulled back, startled. "Whoa! What happened?"

"What's the matter?"

"Everything just got big, like through a magnifying glass."

"Just one of the perqs of being a Transformer. Microscopic and telescopic vision, among other things. Usually, though, they aren't automatic. Each mech sets them up with specific commands." First Aid peered closely at Sam. "Are there a lot of symbols, words or letters in your field of vision?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Lots of symbols. I don't know what they mean, though. I've been ignoring them as best I could, but they're distracting."

"I bet when you took over Springer's body all his settings returned to their defaults. And I bet Springer never bothered to change his readouts to English. I doubt any of the new arrivals have. I can shut if off, if you want."

"What about the other stuff? That could be useful."

"No problem. I'll just shut down the visual readouts and leave the rest alone." He put down the tools he'd been using and pointed at a chair. "Sit."

Sam sat.

"Shouldn't take but a second," First Aid said. He pulled up a cart with a monitoring device on it and pulled out a small cable. Hooking it up to Sam's head took a second. Sam tried to see what was on the monitor, but First Aid shook his head. "Hold still."

A few clicks on the keyboard and the sickening crawl of unintelligible characters vanished from his visual field.

"Better?" First Aid asked.

"Better," Sam said with relief.

"Good. Another satisfied customer." Sam stared at him but couldn't tell if he was joking. "Well, back to work, then."

They went back to working in companionable silence. Once in a while, First Aid would draw Sam's attention to something he thought was interesting or go into a lecture on Transformer anatomy. Sam absorbed it all, fascinated by the complex mechanisms.

Sideswipe trudged wearily through the darkened corrider towards the medbay. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten any shutdown. Every off-duty moment had been spent with his brother, who lay injured in medical.

The repair work had been frustratingly slow and Sideswipe, not always the most patient of 'bots was getting antsy. Not antsy enough to get banned from the medbay by the medics but close.

He reached the medbay doors and they slid open for him. He stepped through. The red and black Autobot froze in place, one foot hovering uncertainly above the ground, and stared, momentarily stunned by what he saw.

Anger surged through his processor. Nobody but a qualified medic could touch Sunstreaker. Nobody else, especially some smart-mouthed skidplate who thought he was the next Prime. Furious, he dashed across the medbay.

"Watch out!" First Aid barely had time to shout. Sam turned but was caught completely by surprise as Sideswipe's hand closed on his neck.

"Sideswipe! Stop!" the medic shouted. He ran around the table and tried to wedged himself between the two, much larger, mechs. "Ratchet!" he yelled.

Sideswipe's hand tighten painfully around his throat. Sam felt the lightweight metal crush in the warrior's grip. He didn't know if he could be strangled, but the red and black Autobot certainly could rip his head off. He ducked his chin to make his neck less of a target, twisted his hips and kicked Sideswipe hard in the torso. Sideswipe grunted, his grip loosening. Sam shoved his arms up between his opponent's arms and broke the grip. Sideswipe sank to the floor and Sam collapsed next to him. He stared in horror at the huge dent dripping fluids in Sideswipe's chestplate. He clutched his damaged throat barely aware of Ratchet's arrival as dizziness swept over him and his vision staticked.

"What the slaggin' pit is going on here?" Ratchet's curse came faintly to his audio receptors.

First Aid's explanation was lost in a burst of static and he gave up trying to remain conscious.

Ziggy knew she was an unusual and amazingly flexible machine. After all, she had been designed that way. Her ego was what allowed her to function in the manner Sam Beckett had intended when he conceived her. Sam Beckett; however, hadn't fully realized how far she would exceed her parameters. If he'd thought a little more about it, he probably wouldn't have stepped so unprepared into the accelerator.

But now, even Ziggy was losing confidence. Unthinkable as it might seem, she didn't know what to do. What she was experiencing seemed beyond even her amazing abilities. Even before Sam had completed this new leap and found himself occupying a giant robot, she'd felt an unusual probe; a strange intelligence examining her, and for a brief moment it had gained control. She'd apparently been overpowered; rendered unconscious. When she was herself again, she'd discovered she'd lost contact with Sam. Finding him again had proven nearly impossible.

Embarrassment had kept her silent when Al questioned. Information in her memory that she had no business possessing had frightened her. She'd refused to explore it until Springer's story had made it impossible to ignore. Now, when she desperately needed it, she found that it only came to her in a trickle.

Angrily, she pushed forward through her blocked memory searching for answers. Then the answers came. The intelligence was still there waiting patiently for her to come to it. She shied away. It was cold and unemotional; interested only in its own agenda, its own existence. It was just using her and Sam to save itself.

This offended her deeply. She rarely thought of herself while working. Helping Sam help others  
was her job. This thing that was occupying her mind seemed oblivious to others. It then reached out and let her see more. It let her see how important its existence was to another world, another race of beings. She realized that even in its self-centered struggle for survival it was doing something good, as well, even if it didn't care.

Al took a sip of cold coffee and grimaced sourly. He set the styrofoam cup down and glared in turn at Gooshie, Tina, and one of Ziggy's monitoring cameras. Springer was spared Al's wrath and he was grateful. He felt as frustrated as Al, the novelty of having a human body had worn off. He just wanted this whole adventure to end so he could go home.

He stared down at his own untouched cup of coffee—no matter how much sweetener was added it still tasted terrible—and silently prayed for that misnamed supercomputer to prove itself, to come up with a solution, to tell everyone what Sam Beckett was supposed to do to set things right. He felt useless except when they went into the Imaging Chamber and that wasn't often. He pushed his chair away from the workstation he'd been assigned and joined Al in glaring at Ziggy's camera.

"Don't stare," Ziggy pleaded, breaking the silence. Everybody jumped, and Springer blinked in surprise.

Al continued to glare and pointed his cigar at the camera. "Then give us some information," he admonished the computer. "What about that battle you mentioned? Is it important?"

"There's a high probability that the battle is important..." Ziggy trailed off as if uncertain.

"High probability? No percentages? That's not like you," Al said.

"I continue to have difficulty accessing information. I'm sorry for the level of uncertainty I have."

He chewed on his cigar speculatively. "Apologies? Very unlike you. What's going on, Ziggy?"

Al could almost hear the eyeshift in Ziggy's lack of response to the question. "That's just what we need. A computer keeping secrets. Ok, Ziggy, I won't ask anymore questions if you'll just give us what you know, no matter how weird."

"Al, I can't explain, I don't understand what it means, but I believe Sam is supposed to protect the Matrix Bearer."

Al pondered for a moment then turned to Springer. "Mean anything to you?"

Springer looked confused. "Yes, it does but it doesn't make sense. Optimus Prime is the Matrix Bearer. Optimus Prime is on Cybertron, not Earth." His confusion turned to alarm as he thought about the implications of Ziggy's announcement. "At his death, the Matrix Bearer passes the Matrix on to the next designated leader of the Autobots. And if Sam is on Earth and Optimus Prime is on Cybertron..."

"Then Sam is supposed to protect the guy who is going to get the Matrix next." Al finished. "Any idea who?"

"Ultra Magnus is second-in-command. I would assume it would be him."

Al rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Ok, so all we need to do is tell Sam to stick to Ultra Magnus..."

"Like a scraplet," Springer finished.

"Ziggy, open the door. Let's get this show on the road."

The chamber door opened onto a scene of controlled chaos. Al stepped through and would've been, if he hadn't been an invisible hologram, run down by an Autobot with an armful of supplies. He pulled up short in surprised. Springer crashed into him and pushed him through another mech hurrying in a different direction.

"What in the world...?" Al muttered, staring around at the normally quiet place.

"I think we're too late," Springer replied. "It looks like they're preparing the medbay for incoming wounded, which means the attack has already started."

"And why is Sam still here? Ratchet said he'd be out of here this morning." Al looked around the medbay hoping to spot Sam through the milling crowd.

"There," Springer said, pointing.

Al followed Springer's pointing finger and groaned when he spotted Sam. "Doesn't that boy know how to stay out of trouble?" he asked no one in particular.

Sam was sitting on his medical bed, forehead resting on bent knees, arms wrapped around his legs. First Aid was bent over his back working on his neck.

Al sighed heavily and he and Springer hurried to his side, ignoring the frenzied activity.

"I don't want to know what happened," Al told the green robot. Sam twitched slightly at the sound of his friend's voice.

"Hold still," First Aid said quietly. "I'm almost done."

Not waiting for the red and white medic to finish, Al continued talking. "Ziggy finally came up with some solid info. At least as solid as anything we've been able to get out of her on this leap. According to her, you're supposed to protect the Matrix Bearer."

First Aid closed the access port on Sam's neck. "You're set. Just don't go moving around too much. You need to let your self-repair protocol work now." He glanced over at the prone figure of Sideswipe on another bed. "And don't worry about him. He'll be up and about in a couple of hours. With something to think about, I'm sure." He gave Sam a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning his attention to the activity around him.

Sam carefully lifted his head from his knees and looked at Al and Springer. "You don't want to know," he muttered. He glared at Springer. "And you should've warned me. I nearly put my foot through his chest." He glanced over at Sideswipe and then back at the holograms.

Springer grimaced slightly. "Didn't think about it. I just don't fight with my feet and legs. Obviously, our styles differ."

Al looked perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not called Springer after the talk-show host. I have very powerful legs. Great for jumping and taking off Decepticon heads. Not so good against fellow Autobots."

"As I found out," Sam finished dejectedly. He rubbed his neck carefully. "So, who's the Matrix Bearer?"

"Ask anybody here and they'll tell you Optimus Prime," Springer said.

"But?" Sam said.

"But, he's not here," Al took over. "He's on Cybertron. We think you're supposed to protect his successor."

"And that would be?"

"We think it's Ultra Magnus. Springer says he's most likely the next in line since he's the City Commander and Prime's second."

"That's all you have?" Sam asked then held up his hand to stop Al from answering. "Ok, it's actually more than I usually have to work with." He swung his legs off the table and winced.

"Looks like Sideswipe tried to pull your head off," Springer observed.

"And he nearly succeeded. Sorry, I did promise to take care of your body."

"Don't worry about it. Knowing Sideswipe it wasn't your fault."

Sam stood up. "I'm glad you understand." He started pushing his way through the milling bodies searching for First Aid or Ratchet. "Unfortunately, I may have ruined everything by getting hurt again. I would've been out of here and able to go along with Magnus. Instead, I woke up and they were gone and I was stuck again."

He found First Aid patiently instructing a pair of aids on the proper way to stow the supplies. "First Aid, " he said. "I need to talk to Ultra Magnus."

The medic turned and stared at him. "I doubt now is a good time. Magnus is probably too busy to talk. The Decepticons are raiding an energy depot and probably trying to give everybody a free trip to the smelting pits. And you're not supposed to be up."

"I'm fine. I...I found out what I'm supposed to do. I have to protect Magnus."

"Primus above," First Aid sighed. "Unfortunately, I can't let you go out there."

Sam clenched his fists in frustration. "Look, if you want Springer back and me out of here, you'll have to get me to him. I have reasons to believe that his life is in danger."

"I believe you," First Aid said soothingly. "I just can't send you into a battle you are unprepared for. Sam, Magnus is perfectly capable of taking care of himself."

"I wouldn't be here if that was true. I'm here because something unusual is going to happen."

"You know that for a fact?"

Sam's shoulders slumped. "No, not for a fact."

The medic stared up into Sam's optics. "I'll tell you what. I'll radio Magnus and tell him what you told me. It'll put him on the alert for anything unusual. Everybody will watch his back, which is all you would be able to do anyway."

Sam wanted to scream at the medic but Al caught his optic and shook his head. "Stay calm, we'll figure something out," he told Sam.

"Okay, okay," Sam said. "Do I have to stay here?" he ventured.

First Aid stared at him suspiciously. "No, I guess not, but..." he added quickly, "Magnus has made it clear you are not allowed to wander around by yourself. And you have to take it easy."

He pulled out a datapad and scrolled through it. "I believe he has assigned you an escort just in case you decided to discharge yourself. Ah, here it is." First Aid fell silent for a moment. "He's on his way. And don't try anything with him. He's been briefed. Now, go wait for him over there, out of the way." The medic turned away.

"Sure," Sam answered. "And thanks." First Aid waved without turning back and Sam made his way through the crowd to wait by the door. Al and Springer followed.

"Is there anyway to get him out of the city?" Al asked Springer.

"It doesn't look good. Not with someone on his aft all the time."

"Maybe he could overpower him."

"It's possible. Depends on who it is. I think the bigger problem would be getting Sam to the battle site. It would take him too long to drive and I don't think he can fly. It would've been so much easier if he hadn't gotten into a fight with Sideswipe."

"Hey, I'm right here, you know," Sam broke in. "And it wasn't my fault. I was just defending myself."

The handlink squealed for Al's attention. Al read the message and frowned. "Ziggy is having a fit. But it all comes down to she doesn't know what to do anymore than we do." Al whapped the handlink out of frustration. His next words were interrupted by the squealing of tires, and an old-style Datsun fishtailed into the medbay.

Springer covered his eyes. "Oh, no."

The silver car skidded to a halt and for the first time Sam and Al saw a Transformer actually transform. The car unfolded and twisted revealing a head, red arms and red legs. The doors became wings on his back.

"Hey," he said. "I'm Bluestreak. You must be Sam. You look like Springer, though. But Ultra Magnus said that you were really a time-traveler stuck in Springer's body. I think time-traveling sounds pretty cool. Gotta be careful, though. Wouldn't want to go killing your grandfather. That could get pretty messy. Not that Transformers have grandfathers. But you're really a human, right? So you have a grandfather. That's what I meant. Your grandfather. Not mine. I don't have a...didn't we talk about this already?"

Sam stared at the talkative Autobot. He had a silver helmet and face and a red chevron on his forehead. He was grinning but the smile didn't make it to his blue optics. Sam nodded. "You mentioned it in passing," he said. "And yes, I'm Sam."

"Glad to meet you. Let's get out of here, ok? How long have you been in here? Three days? I don't know how you can stand it. One hour and I'm heading for the door." He shuddered, his door wings quivering slightly. Then he grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him through the door and into the hallway.

Once outside the medbay, Bluestreak seemed to relax. The tense grin dissolved into a friendlier expression. He looked up and down the corridor then back at Sam. "So, where do you want to go? I could give you the grand tour. Autobot City is a great place. Big, lots of things to look at. But, you know, I kind of liked the Ark, too. It was a lot smaller, cozier, I guess."

Sam glanced at Springer, who shrugged. "Ask him to take you outside. Then I could try talking you into helicopter mode and flying to Magnus."

"Um," Sam said. "How about going outside? I could use some fresh air."

Bluestreak shut his mouth tightly and eyed Sam warily. "Sure," he said after a long pause. "Not that I don't trust you or anything, but just so you know and all. First Aid said you were pretty worried about Magnus but he also said you were in no condition to go flying off into a battle. I really don't want to have to shoot you down or anything."

"You'd do that?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Well, I'd try not to hurt you much. But, yeah, I'd do whatever it took." He shrugged slightly. "Nothing personal, you know."

"Uh, ok, I guess I won't try anything then." Sam looked up and down the deserted corridor. "So, which way?"

"Follow me," Bluestreak said. He transformed and sped off down the corridor. Sam stared after the speeding Datsun, unmoving. Bluestreak braked and changed back to robot mode. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I, uh, haven't quite figured out the transforming thing."

Bluestreak waited for Sam to catch up. "Why not? Oh, never mind, you've been cooped up in the medbay. You should try it. I could try and talk you through it but everybody's transformation sequence is different. I'd probably just get you confused. You know, maybe it's not such a good idea. If you figured out how to transform into a car then you'd probably just try out the helicopter and then I'd have to shoot you down." Bluestreak grinned. "I like walking," he finished and led Sam and his unseen companions away from the medbay.

Sam took in everything as they walked through Autobot City. It was a pretty bustling place once they got away form the medbay. Humans and Autobots mixed freely and all were intent on their duties. Occasionally someone would acknowledge them with a greeting.

Bluestreak took his tour guide duties seriously pointing out, and rambling on, about everything and nothing. Soon Sam stopped listening.

A few turns later, Springer spoke up. "He's not taking you to the city entrance. He rambles on so much that I tend to underestimate him. I guess he's making sure you don't get a chance to get away from him."

"Swell," Sam sighed.

"What?" Bluestreak asked.

"Nothing. Just wondering where we were going."

Bluestreak chuckled. "You'll see."

A few minutes later, he led Sam into a large lobby. One whole wall was glass and looked out into an open courtyard, letting bright sunlight stream in. Bluestreak headed for the doors which slid open at his approach.

Sam looked around the courtyard as they exited the main building. Like everywhere else he'd been in Autobot City the ground beneath his feet was metal. A large fountain in the center sprayed water in intricate patterns. A few small trees in large pots had been placed around the perimeter of the area otherwise it was bare of plant life except, Sam noticed, for grass growing between the metal plates. He pulled the air through his intakes. It smelled fresh and clean and the sun was warm and very relaxing.

Al did a 360 taking in everything, as well. Suddenly he stopped and pointed. "Look."

Sam and Springer followed his pointing finger. Crouching uncomfortably on the ground with his distinctive spoiler facing them was Hot Rod. They watched him for a few seconds and then Sam asked, "What's he doing?" Hot Rod shifted positions and shook his hand. Clumps of dirt and grass flew in all directions.

"Pulling weeds," Bluestreak informed them. "It's Kup's idea of punishment. It gives you plenty of time to think about what you did. Plus it keeps things looking nice. Well, usually. You're not supposed to throw it all over the place."

"Oh," Sam said.

Hot Rod shook some more dirt from his hand and turned around at the sound of Bluestreak's voice. He glared at Sam and turned back. "Go away," he grumbled.

Ignoring the order, Sam approached the angry Autobot and squatted down next to him. "Hey, I'm sorry...," he started to say.

Hot Rod plucked furiously at the tiny, defenseless greenery pushing its way through the narrow gaps between Autobot City's metal plates, and threw the next fingerful of grass and dirt at Sam. "You don't need to apologize to me. I'm not the one whose body you stole." The anger turned to hurt as Hot Rod met Sam's optics. "You know, I trusted you..." he trailed off.

"I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

"You think I'm mad about this?" he plucked at the grass again and laughed quietly. "I was going to get caught sooner or later, it wasn't your fault. It's just that I thought you were Springer. I was really worried about you...him...and, I guess I was embarrassed. You made me look stupid." He rocked back onto his heels, wrapping his arms around his legs for balance.

"That wasn't my intention. I get the feeling that everybody else was feeling pretty upset about the whole thing. Not just you. And if it makes you feel any better, Springer isn't too upset about it."

Hot Rod stared at Sam. "You mean you've talked to him? Where is he? How is he?"

"Whoa," Sam held up his hands to slow down Hot Rod. "I've really told you more than I should. Though, at the rate things are going, I may never get things set right. Magnus has made sure I stay put." They both glanced over at Bluestreak, who'd remained at a discreet distance, allowing them some privacy. "And it's Magnus who I'm supposed to protect. What a mess."

"Well," Hot Rod said all anger dispelled by Sam's words. "I can tell you that Magnus is ok at this moment."

"Yeah?"

"Arcee's been giving me a blow by blow of the fight. She and Kup have been sticking to Magnus like magnets. Everything's going ok and nobody's taken any unusual interest in the big guy. Just a small skirmish over a power source. It's nothing Magnus and the rest can't handle in their shutdown."

Hot Rod's face went expressionless for a moment, his optics unfocused. He shook himself slightly and turned a puzzled face to Sam. "Something's happening. Arcee says they've called for reinforcements." As the words left his mouth, five jets screamed by over their heads. Everybody—real and hologram—in the courtyard watched them pass.

"The Aerialbots," Bluestreak announced. His face, too, went blank as he seemed to listen to imaginary voices.

"Devastator!" Hot Rod and Bluestreak said simultaneously. "We're sending in Superion to counter," Bluestreak finished. He listened again. "Magnus has asked for more troops." He paused, waiting for more information. "Some Seekers have shown up, too."

"Starscream and his bunch?" Hot Rod asked. Then, "No, the Coneheads."

Sam listened in horror as the two Autobots exchanged information. "I've got to get out there," he announced. "Magnus is in trouble."

"You'd never make it in time," Hot Rod told him.

Bluestreak shook his head. "You can't even transform. You'd only be a liability. They're handling it..." He paused, then tapped the side of his head. "Hot Rod, you still have Arcee? I've lost Blaster's feed."

"Yeah, I've lost her, too. Communications are down." He leaped to his feet just as a siren sounded from the city. "Scrap!" he swore. "The city's transforming into battlemode. We've got to get inside." Without another word they all raced for the entrance. They were within steps of reaching it when the blast doors slammed shut in their faces, trapping them outside.

"Slag, slag, slag!" Hot Rod's guns appeared in his hands and he took his frustration out on the doors which absorbed the energy from the blasts without harm.

"Sam, watch out!" Al shouted.

"Watch your back," was Springer's warning.

Sam spun around and stared in surprise at the large, winged, black and purple Transformer hanging in the air behind them. He'd appeared silently and out of nowhere.

"Let me help," he sneered interrupting Hot Rod's tantrum. Without even pausing to see who belonged to the voice Hot Rod twisted and fired. The Transformer vanished as soundlessly as he'd appeared and Hot Rod's shots passed harmlessly through the space the Transformer had occupied only seconds before.

"Skywarp!" Hot Rod yelled at the empty space.

"Where did he...?" Sam didn't finish the question. Skywarp appeared again in a flash of light but this time he had his arms raised, guns aimed at the little group.

"Like shooting cyberrats in a slagpit," he smirked.

Sam and Hot Rod dove out of the way and Bluestreak fired off a bolt of lightning that struck Skywarp on the arm. The Decepticon's shot went wild, striking the blast doors. He vanished with a howl of frustration.

Hot Rod remained crouched on the ground scanning the sky. Sam sprawled on his back with his hand on his chest feeling his fuel pump pound. Bluestreak stood in a daze, shivering slightly.

Al looked at the silver Datsun and then glanced questioningly at Springer. "That's why he's here and not out on the mission," Springer informed him. "Ratchet relieved him of duty a couple of months ago because he started freezing up in battle. I'm not sure we can depend on him."

Al shook his head in disbelief and crouched down next to Sam. "You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fine." He rolled onto his knees. "It's been one helluva leap, hasn't it?"

"You've got that right," Al answered. "Now just keep it together and don't do anything stupid, ok?" That's when he noticed the blast doors. "Sam, look."

Sam looked. "Oh, boy," he muttered.

Hot Rod turned. "Now what?"

"Look." Sam pointed at the doors. The seemingly indestructible metal doors smoked and bubbled and dripped. "He's armed with the same acid that was used on Sunstreaker."

Hot Rod grimaced. "Well, isn't that just wonderful." He leaned over and slapped Bluestreak's leg. "C'mon, Blue, snap out of it. We have to find cover before 'Warp gets back with his friends."

Bluestreak looked down at Hot Rod crouched at his feet. He focused on Hot Rod's face. "I'm fine," he muttered but the slight quiver in his voice seemed to say otherwise. In any case, it was obvious that Hot Rod didn't believe him.

"You'd better be because it's just the two of us against the three of them."

Bluestreak opened his mouth to respond but whatever he intended to say was drowned out by the roar of jet engines and three F-15s came in low over the spires of Autobot City firing their weapons. They seemed oblivious to the City's defensive fire around them.

Bluestreak snapped out of his daze. Diving out of the way of the strafing of acid shells, he rolled to his knees and targeted his electron rifle on the nearest Seeker. Skywarp saw him and vanished before the Autobot could fire. Bluestreak lowered his rifle and scanned for another target.

At the first sound of the jets, Hot Rod transformed and sped straight for them. The jets flashed over him and he transformed again, spun around and aimed his pistols at Thundercracker's tail fins. He fired but the blue Seeker rolled out of the way allowing the photon blasts to pass harmlessly by his wing.

Sam jumped to his feet and scanned for any kind of cover. Unable to transform and unarmed he could feel the bullseye between his shoulders.

"I thought I'd taken care of you the other day," announced a high-pitched raspy voice from behind him. Sam turned and came face to face with the silver and red jet. Red optics burned in a dark face. A chilling smirk and twin cannons aimed at his face froze Sam in place.

"Starscream?" Sam whispered remembering what he'd been told about his arrival in Springer's body.

Starscream cocked his head slightly, apparently puzzled, then he started to laugh. "I've reduced the great Springer to befuddlement. Too confused and afraid to fight back."

Sam pulled his optics away from the hovering robot and snatched a glance over Starscream's shoulder. Hot Rod was taking aim.

"Yeah, how about that?" Sam quipped hoping to distract the jet. "I'm shaking."

"Sam," Springer warned. "Don't play games with him.

Starscream grinned and raised his arms. "Good," he sneered.

The Seeker twisted in midair and fired at Hot Rod. Laughing delightedly, he lit his boot jets and soared off into the sky.

The unexpected action caught everyone by surprise. In the silence, they all heard the quiet pop of the acid shells bursting against Hot Rod's chest. The force of the small explosions staggered Hot Rod and sent him sprawling. Bluestreak, shaking off his surprise, shot Starscream before he could get out of range.

"Slaggin' Autobot," Starscream cursed and fired off another round of shells. They all missed any important targets, spattering acid on the ground. The Seeker transformed and called out, "Let's get out of here." The other two jets broke off the attack and retreated with their injured wingmate.

Sam ran to Hot Rod and knelt down beside him inspecting the damage.

"Oh, God, Al, this is all my fault," he whispered to the hologram.

"I don't think so, Sam," Al responded realization dawning. Sam looked up at Al, suddenly understanding as well.

"He would've been out here alone. No one to help when the Seekers showed up."

Springer's eyes widened with amazement. He collapsed slowly to his knees next to his injured friend; his legs could no longer able to hold him. "Roddy? Roddy's going to be the Matrix Bearer?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Who would have thought?"

Three sets of eyes took in the young Autobot who lay on the ground staring transfixed at the wisps of smoke starting to rise from his chest armor. He reached up to brush the sticky liquid away but Sam grabbed his hand. "Don't touch it. You'll only spread it around and get it on your hand."

Bluestreak crouched down beside Sam. "What are we going to do? Communications are still out."

"Then you're going to have to go and get help. Now!"

The silver Autobot jumped to his feet and then hesitated. "But the blast doors are closed."

"No, look." Sam pointed at the doors. A huge hole marked the spot where Skywarp's shell had hit. "And that's what Hot Rod is going to look like if you don't get moving."

Bluestreak nodded once, sharply, and transformed. His wheels squealed shrilly on the metal before he got traction and sped off. At the doors, he transformed quickly back to robot mode and leaped through the hole. Transforming in mid-air, he landed on his wheels and squealed away.

Sam returned his attention to the injured mech. His jaw fiercely clenched against the agonizing pain, Hot Rod met Sam's optics. "I don't want to die," he whispered tightly.

"Nobody's dying today," Springer said. He reached out an ephemeral hand and laid it over Hot Rod's helm. Sam looked at the hologram that was him but not him. "Tell him we're here and we're going to save him," Springer asked him.

"You're not going to die," Sam assured Hot Rod. "Springer says nobody is dying today and he's right."

I hope, Sam added silently while searching desperately through his memory for the information First Aid had given him. Last night, Sam realized though it seemed like ages ago.

"Now, hold still," he instructed the squirming mech. His hands searched vainly for the connections that held Hot Rod's chest armor in place.

"Springer's here?" Hot Rod asked faintly.

"Yeah, yeah, he's right here." Frustrated, Sam grabbed the edge of the plate. "This is going to hurt," he warned and yanked the ruined plate free tossing it aside. Hot Rod grunted but didn't yell out.

Springer and Al winced in sympathy. "Tell him he did great today," Springer added. "Tell him...tell him I'm proud of him."

Sam repeated Springer's words while staring at the mess that lay under the armor. The acid had eaten through Hot Rod's chest and was now doing its work on his internals.

What am I looking at? he asked himself wildly. Pushing aside panic he concentrated. Ok, I see his fuel pump and that's his lasercore shielding. That's the most important stuff.

The fuel pump cycled just then and energon sprayed from a dissolving fuel line. He groaned inwardly. He didn't have any tools to fix the damaged lines; nothing but his hands. His only hope was to stop the acid from reaching his fuel pump and lasercore.

"He's just saying that to make me feel better," Hot Rod whispered.

"No, I mean it," was Springer's reply even though Hot Rod couldn't hear him.

Sam looked up at Springer. "I'm really sorry, Springer, but I'm going to have to touch this stuff. I know I promised to take care of your body."

Springer grinned slightly. "You have to do what you have to do. I'm sure I'll survive."

With Springer's permission, Sam reached into Hot Rod's chest and scrapped a glob of thick acid from a fuel line. The stuff immediately burned through his hand. The pain was unbelievable. He grimaced and rubbed the stuff off onto the ground which smoked and bubbled. Shaking his head, he reached in again and continued to scrap the material off, desperate to keep it away from Hot Rod's vital areas. He worked as quickly and carefully as he could, but soon he couldn't feel anything but the pain, his sense of touch gone, burned away by the acid.

He didn't know how long he'd been working when a pair of gray hands grabbed his wrists and pulled them out of Hot Rod. "Sam, you can stop now," a gentle voice whispered in his audio receptor. He focused on the face peering at him and rocked back on his heels. "We're here," First Aid continued soothingly. Other hands grasped his shoulders and turned him away while the medic bent to examine Hot Rod.

"Is he...?" Sam asked.

Al, who'd been studying the handlink, gave him a thumbs up. "You did it, Sam," he cheered.

"He'll be in the medbay for a while but he'll be fine. If not for you, he wouldn't have made it this long," First Aid said at the same time.

Springer, who still seemed confounded by the revelation of Hot Rod's future, met Sam's gaze and nodded his head. "Good job," he said. Sam smiled then sighed regretfully when he saw blue lightning envelop his human body and knowing that it was doing the same to Springer's robot body.

Springer blinked at the sensation of cool liquid pouring over his hands. Then the pain started and he gasped. "Sorry," the young femme doing the pouring said not sounding very sorry at all.

The triplechanger looked down at his hands, puzzled because the last thing he really remembered was flying through the early morning chill. He shook his head trying to clear out the fuzz.

The femme peered more closely at his face, clearly worried now. "Hey, you ok? You're not going to pass out on me are you?"

He shook his head then saw Hot Rod lying unconscious and seriously damaged on the ground. "What happened?" he asked, his voice sounding weak even to him.

"You saved his life. What do you think happened?"

"I did?" And that seemed right. "Yeah, I did. How about that?" He looked back at the femme and grinned weakly. "Who would have thought?"

The Matrix waited patiently within the dying Optimus Prime to be passed on to the next host. The connection to Prime was disconnected before he ceased to function and the Matrix was passed clumsily to its new host. Power surged and the Matrix rejoiced at the feel of this new one's touch. Yet the Matrix knew that this one was not yet ready for the responsibility and was satisfied to be place within a caretaker's body. The time would come sooner or later when the chosen one would take the Matrix for his own.

"Megatron? Is that you?" Sam felt the words echo in his head as the blue lightning faded. He found himself peering down at an evil-looking purple Transformer.

"Here's a hint." The Transformer sneered as he transformed into a huge, orange cannon.

The barrel of the cannon filled Sam's vision, and his optics widened in fear.

"Oh, boy!"


End file.
